Choices
by Swellison
Summary: As Dean's deal comes due, Sam and Dean ponder the future. WARNINGS: Spoilers/references to WIAWSB and NRFTW.
1. Chapter 1

A/N Another oldie that I thought I'd already posted here. This was a spec fic when it was written, you'd probably consider it AU now.

Disclaimer: The Winchesters don't belong to me, but I wish they did.

Warnings: Spoilers/References to Dean's deal and NRFTWicked. Takes place one week before NRFTWicked.

Choices

By Swellison

_Click-click-click-click-click-click-click._

Dean muted the television and glanced towards Sam's bed, tracking down the odd sound.

Sam lay on his back, head propped up by three motel pillows, open laptop on his stomach. He had changed into boxers and a t-shirt and crawled under the covers more than two hours earlier, then activated his laptop, as he'd done at every chunk of free time for the past several months. Earlier, Sam's drawn-up knees had supported the laptop, now only one leg was bent at the knee, his left leg stretched flat under the covers. Sam's head was tipped awkwardly to one side, like an airplane passenger who fell asleep without the benefit of a doughnut-shaped neck pillow.

Rising quietly from his bed, Dean leaned over Sam, gently extracting the laptop from his brother's lax fingers, noting that one thumb held down the space bar, accounting for the mad clicking noise. At the movement, Sam stirred, one eye opening to stare blearily at Dean setting the laptop on the night table.

"Get some sleep, Tiger." Dean removed a couple of the pillows, encouraging Sam to lie flat. "Tomorrow is another day." Well, today, actually, since it was past two in the morning. Sam mumbled something, and then rolled over on his stomach and Dean turned out the light.

Dean noiselessly picked up the laptop and carried it over to the kitchenette area of their room, setting it on the table. He sat down, angling the chair so that he could keep an eye on both Sam and the laptop. The soundless television to Dean's right provided some illumination, as did the computer. Momentarily, Dean just stared at the monitor, and then he typed in a few keywords and began surfing. His thoughts drifted to this last year on the road.

After Sam had learned about his deal with the Crossroads demon, he had insisted that Dean tell him everything he could about the pact. Dead did, but only after extracting a promise in return; his brother could do anything in his power to save Dean except make another deal with the Crossroads demon, or any other demon, period. Sam was not going to follow in his father's and his brother's footsteps; there would be no more Winchester deals with demons.

Dean told Sam everything, including the demon's threat that Sam would drop dead, and be "back to rotten meat in no time" if Dean welshed or weaseled on the deal. Then Dean had flashed his 'gotcha' smile; Sam had already found the loophole in that threat. If Sam saved Dean from his deal, they were both free and clear, since any welshing or weaseling would be Sam's, not Dean's. From that point on, Dean sought to bury his Crossroads deal under their day-to-day hunting activities, concentrating on tracking down the demons who'd escaped from the Devil's Gate and all the other supernatural evils they had encountered.

They had spent Christmas in Blue Earth, at Pastor Jim's old place, which their old friend had willed to the Winchester brothers. Since they were in Minnesota, they had no lack of snow, and Sam had pulled out all stops to make their holiday perfect. A month later, he had surpassed himself with Dean's birthday treat – five days at the Grand Canyon, including the two-day mule ride to the bottom of the canyon, the train ride with its staged robbery (in the interests of safety, Sam had warned Dean about the 'robbery' ahead of time), and three nights in the best suite the Grand Canyon Lodge had to offer. Sam had even found a skinwalker for them to take care of on their way out. Truly memorable.

Dean had tried to reciprocate for Sam's birthday, finding a hunt in upstate New York and surprising Sam at the restaurant with Sarah Blake. ("Subtle, Dean," Sam had murmured under his breath. "Hey, I'm smooth, not subtle," Dean had retorted, then headed back to the motel, leaving Sam and Sarah to enjoy dessert and the rest of the night in private.)

The days had just piled up after that, filled with hunting, the endless road, motel rooms and Sam. Increasingly, Sam had buried himself in the laptop, leaving Dean with only hours of mindless television to amuse himself. A few nights ago, he'd stumbled on the last half of an _I Dream of Jeannie_ rerun. Totally useless in terms of genie-lore, but it got Dean to thinking about his encounter with that djinn last year, particularly his last conversation with dream-Mom.

"_I'll die." Dean said. "The djinn'll drain the life out of me in a couple days."_

"_But in here," Mom's gentle voice rebutted, "with us, it'll feel like years… like a lifetime. I promise, no more pain or fear. Just love and comfort and safety. Dean, stay with us."_

Once planted, the words stayed in his brain. Dean found himself idly detailing the requirements of his new wish. Mom and Dad would still be together, healthy and very much in love. Dad would still have his half of the garage, and Dean would own the other half, having bought out Mike. They would specialize in the restoration and maintenance of classic cars, and Dean's Impala, plus her KAZ2Y5 license and minus the weapons box in the trunk, would be their best advertising. He and Sam would connect, sharing a solid brotherly bond of mutual love and respect, no matter how little they had in common. Sam and Jess would relocate to Lawrence, and Sam would be attending law school at the University of Kansas, after graduating summa cum laude from Stanford. Dean would even keep a few parts of his first wish: he and Carmen would be living together, and Dad would still have his softball team. And no guilt over choosing happiness over hunting, since this time Dean knew that the only life at stake was his own.

Planning his wish gave Dean the illusion of choice, and people with choices had control of their lives; they weren't just marking time until the hell hounds descended. But Sam had gotten nowhere in his quest to thwart Dean's deal with the Crossroads demon and Dean only had six days left. Last night, after Dean separated Sam from the laptop, he had started surfing the web for signs of djinn activity.

Dean diverted his thoughts back to the present and re-read the information currently on the laptop's screen. Yep, he'd found it: overwhelming evidence of a djinn's handiwork – and only three states away. He could boost a car, find the djinn and be in dream-Lawrence in less than a day. Plenty of time, before… He'd have it all: Mom and Dad, Sam, Jessica, Carmen, the Impala – a wonderful lifetime, lived in a couple of days while the djinn drained him of his life's blood. Still, Dean would have everything.

He heard Sam stirring in bed, rolling over on his side and his eyes tracked automatically to his brother.

He'd have everything, but Sam would have nothing. Nothing but the knowledge that he'd failed in his vow to save Dean. Worse, Dean would have abandoned him before Sam even had a chance to square off against the Crossroads demon. Nothing could be guaranteed to send Sam flying for the nearest yarrow-lined crossroads faster than that. Dean knew his brother would make a deal to save him in a heartbeat, and the demons would finally have the one Winchester they really wanted: Sam.

No. Not going to happen.

Dean carefully x'ed out of the website displayed on the screen, then called up and erased all the cookies from his session. He also deleted the last several URLs from the laptop's history. If things worked out, he could recreate his search next week, and he and Sam would go after the djinn together. If they didn't, he sure didn't want Sam to be alone, stumbling across that website and figuring out what Dean had been searching for and why.

If things didn't work out…. John Winchester had clawed his way out of Hell, and Dean was well-known for following in his father's footsteps, wasn't he?

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

Choices Part 2

Sam's Side

By Swellison

"Fifteen-two, fifteen-four, fifteen-six, pair is eight and the right jack is nine." Sam counted his hand as he laid his cards on the table, and then pegged his way across the cribbage board's finish line. He flashed Dean a quick smile. "I win." Sam knew that he'd developed some of his father's characteristics over this past year, but he'd always possessed the Winchester's aversion to losing. "Best two out of three, game over."

"I want a rematch," Dean challenged from across the motel room's table. "Best three out of five."

"No, Dean. It's almost ten and I've still got research to do." Sam expertly gathered the deck of cards and placed them in their box.

"Yeah, okay." Dean rose from the table, and settled down on the bed by the door. He flicked the remote on and surfed the TV, looking for a suitably entertaining channel, keeping the volume low so as not to disturb Sam's research.

Sam powered up the laptop, reflecting on how grateful he was that Dean never asked for an update. That way he didn't have to admit out loud that after months of searching the internet, every reference book in the Impala's trunk, and all the arcane library books he could get his hands on, he still had no solution, no way out of Dean's deal. And he only had six days left, now, to find that solution. Dean's year was almost up, where had the time gone?

They had spent a lot of it working their day job, hunting. Both Winchesters felt a degree of responsibility for the deluge of demons that had sprung loose from the Devil's Gate in Wyoming, and they had done their darnedest to track down and eliminate as many demons as they could.

In addition, Sam had also tried to make the year's holidays – especially Christmas and Dean's birthday - memorable events for his older brother. He wanted to show Dean what his brother would never let him put into words, how much Sam relied on respected and loved his older brother. At least Dean's last birthday, an extended trip to the Grand Canyon, had been a good one. At least. Sam was beginning to hate those two words almost as much as he hated 'last'. Dean should've had twenty-nine good birthdays; hell, he deserved 90 good birthdays – and Sam was determined to give them to his brother, he just had no idea how.

Sam stared at the laptop's screen as he connected to the internet, lost in the recent past.

_Sam woke to motionless quiet. He glanced at the empty driver's seat, and then out the windshield; the Impala was parked on the dirt shoulder of a narrow country road. Sam's gaze shifted to the passenger side window, studying the distinctive landscape around him._

_Headstones of varying sizes and compositions, arranged in neat and orderly rows. _What are we doing at a cemetery during the daytime?_ Sam got out of the car, the door creaking closed behind him. He surveyed the graveyard; easily spotting Dean's still form a few rows from the road. _

_Carefully approaching his brother, Sam realized that he knew this cemetery—they'd been there before. He stopped a few paces behind and to the right of Dean. Sam read the simple inscription on the pink granite headstone that Dean stood frozen in front of: MARY WINCHESTER 1954-1983._

_Sam dithered, should he say something or keep silent? How long had Dean been there already? He decided to say nothing and just continue to watch his brother's back. _

_Roughly a half-hour later, Dean suddenly flinched, and shook his head. He gave one last look at their mother's grave, and then turned to face Sam. _

_Dean wasn't surprised to see him, Sam noted as he asked, "Ready to go?"_

_Dean maintained his silence, but gave a quick nod and walked back toward the front of the cemetery, Sam falling into step next to him. They reached the Impala and Dean wordlessly settled into the driver's seat. Dean waited while Sam arranged himself as best he could in the passenger seat, long legs folded tightly but still brushing against the dashboard. _

_Dean started the Impala and drove down the two-lane. They rode several miles in silence, and then Dean abruptly pulled into the parking lot of the first bar they saw. _

_Sam trailed Dean into the bar. Dean bypassed the half-full bar and headed for a booth along the back wall of the establishment. He settled into the booth's red cushion and Sam sat on the opposite side. A twenty-something brunette waitress approached them, dressed in a micro-mini denim skort and a Hooters-wannabe scoop-necked t-shirt. The girl's white t-shirt had "Good Eats" strategically stretched in red across her chest, with "at McCann's Saloon" in much finer print, a couple of inches lower. Sam blushed after reading the saloon's name and the waitress flashed him a knowing wink. _

_"What c'n I get you boys?"_

_Sam opened his mouth to order, but Dean beat him to it. "A bottle of Jack and a glass, and a beer for the kid, here."_

_"Coming right up," the girl nodded, not bothering to write down the order, and retreated from their booth._

So_, Sam thought sourly. _Dean's talking; he's just not talking to me. _About to tell Dean what he could do with his selective conversational skills, he reconsidered. _Or he really needs a drink, after staring at Mom's grave for God knows how long…

_In next to no time, the waitress – Kelly, Sam idly read her nametag – returned, placing a bottle of Jack Daniels and a tumbler in front of Dean and an icy mug of beer in front of him. Then she disappeared and Sam waited for Dean's next move. _

_Predictably, Dean opened the whiskey and poured himself a full glass. He took a long swig, and then set the glass on the tabletop. He stared at the bottle a few seconds, and then abruptly spoke. "You remember how Mom and Dad met?" _

_Not giving Sam a chance to reply, Dean re-told the story of how Mary's car had broken down conveniently close to the garage that had employed John at the time. Pausing only long enough to gulp down more whiskey, Dean related John and Mary's first date, followed by a manly just-the-facts recounting of their parents' wedding. Dean continued to drink and talk about Mom, his eyes darting from the bottle to his glass to the tabletop, everywhere but Sam's face. _

_Sam knew how fleetingly Dean spoke of their mom; talking about her – even thinking about her - always seemed to bring his older brother pain. But here Dean was, spilling all sorts of random details about Mom and the early days of the Winchester family. Sam just listened, afraid that Dean would shut up if he said anything to break the stream of memories. _

_"When Mom was pregnant, the last couple of months, she'd curl up in the recliner and take an afternoon nap. She'd let me join her, and I'd jump up and settle next to her. I'd rest my head or my hand on her belly, and we'd wait for the baby to kick."_

_Dean hastily gulped more whiskey, and then continued. "They wanted to be surprised, so Mom was always careful to call you my baby brother or baby sister. I think she picked Sam as your name because it could be Samantha, in a pinch, but I just __**knew**__ I was gonna get a little brother."_

_Sam wasn't at all surprised as Dean stopped to take another swig of whiskey. Dean's drinking pattern was obvious: tell a memory, take a drink. He'd gone through almost four glasses already; Sam was beginning to think that he wouldn't quit until the bottle was empty._

_"Right after you were born, Mom bought a little stepstool for me, so that I was tall enough to reach into your crib, to say goodnight and such."_

_Dean drained his fourth glass and set it slightly unsteadily down on the table. "Dad didn't replace it, after… So I learned to climb over the crib rails, to reach you."_

_Dean fell silent after that, and Sam waited for him to pour another glass of whiskey. After several seconds of Dean staring at the bottle of Jack, Sam realized that Dean was finally through talking. Sam signaled Kelly for the check, glanced at it just long enough to calculate the tip, and left some bills on the table. Dean rarely got drunk in public, but Sam had way too much experience carting his wounded brother around, so he had no trouble hauling Dean gently out of the booth and onto his feet. "C'mon, big bro'. I'm taking you home." _

_They left the bar with Dean more or less on his own two feet. Sam was relieved when Dean didn't put up an argument when he lifted the keys from Dean's pocket and settled him into the passenger seat. Quickly locating a motel, Sam had them checked in and settled into the room less than twenty minutes after leaving McCann's Saloon. _

_Sam guided Dean over to sit on the bed closest to the door, and then fetched two Tylenols and a glass of water. He handed the pills to Dean, who swallowed them without a fuss, followed by the whole glass of water. _

_"Get some sleep," Sam said, draping a blanket over his older brother. _

_"Y'gotta 'member Mom, too, Shammy," Dean mumbled as he lay down. "Want you to recognishe normal 'n happy when you find 'em ag'n."_

_Sam just stared at his brother. _Always thinking of me, , Dean.

_The next day, Dean snarled and groaned his way through a hangover and Sam buried himself in his research, more determined than ever to find a way out of Dean's deal._

Sam pulled himself out of his memories, swiftly returning to the present. That had been a week ago, and he was no nearer finding a solution, despite his best efforts. Mentally giving himself a shake, Sam typed 'crossroads demon' on the search line and started surfing the net. After almost two hours of fruitless research, he took a break long enough to change into pajamas, brush his teeth and relocate to his bed.

Settling under the covers, Sam drew his knees up, supporting the laptop balanced on his stomach. He stared at the monitor screen. Where to start? Dean's childhood voice from years back answered: "Start at the beginning, silly." The beginning… Sam and Dean had known about crossroad demons for years, of course, but their first real encounter with a crossroad demon had been in Greenwood, Mississippi with Evan Hudson's deal. Well, George's deal had come first, and before that….

Sam typed 'Robert Johnson legend' into Google's search page and clicked on the first website listed. He read through it and the next three websites, absorbing all the information about the bluesman and his legend, but no further along in his quest to break Dean's deal. Doggedly, he pulled up the next site listed and started reading. This site included an artist's concept of the deal, with a passable-looking Robert Johnson being confronted by a demon at the yarrow-lined crossroad. The demon looked nothing like the sexy lady demon that Dean had described, however. It was the figure of a man, wrapped in a long, dark robe – it looked remarkably like a reaper.

Sam's eyes widened. _A reaper…_ he hadn't even considered that. Technically, he wouldn't be breaking his promise to his brother, because reapers weren't demons. Dean had destroyed the pages of Sue Ann's little black book that told how to summon and bind a reaper, but Sam had memorized them first. And Sam's near-photographic memory had been legendary at Stanford, among his friends.

So, he could summon a reaper and re-direct Dean's fate and the hellhounds to someone else. Sam remembered Dean's anguish at unknowingly causing Marshall Hall's death, and his words at Green County Detention Center. Dean wouldn't approve at all of foisting his deal on some unsuspecting innocent. Fine. Sam would summon the reaper and take Dean's place himself. It was high time Dean learned that he wasn't the only Winchester who would do anything to save his brother.

But that would leave Dean where Sam so desperately didn't want to be: alone, knowing your brother sacrificed his life and soul to save you. _Damn. When did doing the right thing become so impossible?_

Stymied, Sam went back to his internet research, not even realizing when he dozed off, one thumb resting on the space bar.

_Sam was in Evan's study, bent over, eyes on the black goofer dust that he poured in a circle on the hardwood floor. He addressed Evan's boots as he formed the protective circle. "Look, believe me, don't believe me, whatever you want. Just, whatever you do, stay inside the circle, all right?"_

_"What is that stuff?"_

_"Goofer dust."_

_"You serious?"_

_"Yeah, afraid so." Sam had moved from the center of the room to sprinkle the goofer dust on the floor around the fireplace. He replayed their short conversation in his head. Something was… off. Evan didn't sound like Evan, he sounded like…_

_Suddenly, Sam jerked his head up and looked at who actually stood in the protective circle. "Dean!"_

_Just then, the wind started howling, unnaturally whipping through the study. It scattered papers and rattled the closed and locked study door. _

_"Sam! Get in the circle!" Dean ordered._

_Sam stepped over towards Dean, but the supernatural wind just increased in force, slowly inducing little breaks in the goofer dust barrier. "C'mon! The circle's broken!" Sam yelled as he ran towards the study door. _

_He heard Dean's boots pounding behind him, and Sam frantically unlocked the door and flung it open. He ran outside, hearing Dean say, "No regrets, Sammy." _

_Sam whirled around, just in time to watch the study door slam shut, Dean trapped on the other side. Sam leaped towards the door, struggling to open it. He heard howls and a choked-off scream. "Dean!"_

_Desperately, Sam tried the door again, startled when the doorknob turned easily in his hand. Taking a deep breath, Sam walked back into the study. "Dean?"_

_His brother lay on the floor, sprawled half-way across the broken circle of goofer dust. His legs were lacerated with several bloody gouges, but his face was peaceful. Dean's green eyes stared sightlessly as Sam dropped to his knees, in shock. _

_Dean was dead._

Click-click-click-click-click-click-click.

The obnoxious sound reached into Sam's mind and prodded him to sleepy wakefulness. He cracked an eye open and saw Dean leaning over him, quietly removing the laptop and placing it on the nightstand.

"Get some sleep, Tiger." Sam sluggishly tracked Dean's movements as his brother reached for and removed two of the pillows behind his head, making it easier for Sam to lie flat.

"Tomorrow's another day."

Sam wasn't sure that the words penetrated his sleep-fogged brain, but he knew that Dean was speaking them, which meant…. "J'sta dr'm… you're still'ere." He mumbled, and then rolled over on his stomach, almost asleep before Dean turned out the light.

_Sam stared at his open textbook, the lines of type blurring as he sought to absorb their meaning. The sofa he was sitting on shifted and someone sat down next to him. _

_"Sam, hon, go to bed." Jess spoke, trailing a hand down his arm. _

_"In a little while. I've gotta study—"_

_"You know you'll ace your exam tomorrow."_

_"I don't know—"_

_"Well, I know it. You always ace your exams; it's what you do."_

_"You'll see things with fresh eyes in the morning." Jess patted his shoulder and rose from the couch, the soft swirls of her white nightie brushing Sam's knees. She smiled as she walked towards their bedroom, coaxing over her shoulder. "And you'll get in at least another hour of studying in, in the morning, you morning person freak, you."_

_Sam closed his history textbook with a snap and rose to follow Jess into the bedroom._

Sam rolled over onto his side, the movement enough to wake him from sleep. He kept his eyes closed; his years of hunting had ingrained in him the habit of taking stock of the situation before letting anyone know he was awake. He dwelled on his dream – it'd been awhile since he'd dreamed of Jess, even longer when his dreams of Jess hadn't been nightmares. Sam's visions had sharpened his appreciation for everyday, run-of-the-mill dreams. Sam bought into the theory that dreams were the province of the subconscious and he'd always paid attention to what his subconscious was trying to tell him.

What had Jess said? _"You'll_ _see things with fresh eyes in the morning." Fresh eyes… a different perspective? _But he'd looked at Dean's deal left, right and sideways, now, examining it from all angles. Dean's deal… wasn't really a deal at all. _It's a contract, a verbal contract, between Dean and the crossroad demon. I've been looking at this as a hunter, all along. Maybe I need to look at it through a lawyer's eyes, instead? _

The idea was so new and hopeful that he almost sprang from the bed that second. Sam was itching to read the document that he'd made Dean write close to a year ago, detailing everything that had happened at the crossroad, the exact words Dean and the crossroad demon had exchanged. If there was a legal loophole, he'd find it in their words. _Please God, there has to be. _

This new direction for his research gave Sam peace of mind as well as hope. "We do the possible immediately," Dad's words, borrowed from the Marine Corps, echoed through his mind. "The impossible takes a little longer."

_But not longer than six days,_ Sam promised himself as he fell into much-needed, restorative sleep.


End file.
